


The Things In His Pockets

by justcallmeasmodeus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester - Freeform, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:08:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justcallmeasmodeus/pseuds/justcallmeasmodeus
Summary: In another life there are very few things that you can count on to be consistent. One of those is the things Dean has in his pockets.





	The Things In His Pockets

You weren’t even sure why you were doing this. The sight of his lifeless body laying in the bed was barely even a memory, the smell of the still smouldering pyre was still wafting through the bunker, pulled in by the fresh air intake, the sound of his limp hand hitting the door frame as Sam carried him into the room still echoed in your mind like a gunshot. You stood in the doorway, staring at that spot on the jam, letting the tears burn their way down your cheeks.

_It was the sound that forced the bile to your throat. You could handle seeing him laying limply in Sam’s arms, block out the bouncing of his hands with every step Sam took, but the sound of his hand slapping the door jam sent you running to the bathroom. You laid curled around the toilet, the picture of death on Dean’s face twisting the knife of grief in your gut until you collapsed on the cold tile and let it coax you into darkness._

_When you woke up the bunker was empty. You could could smell the first hints of smoke on the air, so you pushed yourself onto unsteady feet and stumbled your way over to the sink. Your knuckles were as white as the porcelain as you looked in the mirror, trying to familiarize yourself with the stranger staring back. You rinsed out your mouth, suddenly finding yourself mesmerized by the water circling the drain. You felt nothing._

_Eventually you turned the water off, unsure how much time had passed, and not finding the strength to care. You made your way outside, finding a place next to Sam. He wrapped his arm around you, his face sullen and stoney, tear-tracks glistening in the firelight. Dean’s body was already undisguisable in the flames, causing their warmth to provide little comfort against the chill of the night._

_TV and movies always portrayed this end as instantaneous. They never showed how long it actually took to burn a whole pyre, or how if you stood too close the heat would singe the hairs off of your arms and face, or how many times you would open your mouth to say something and find the words were stuck in your throat, but what did it matter anyways, because what could you possibly say when it was your soul laying on the pyre, bits of embers reaching for the stars before burning out against the night sky._

You tore your gaze away from the door and forced yourself to walk into the room. There was a pile of clothes discarded haphazardly on the floor, and you mechanically bent over to pick it up, habits taking over. You tossed socks and undergarments in the hamper, but when you picked up his jeans, you stopped and sat on the edge of the bed.

In this hunter’s life, very few things were certain; you could be certain that danger and chaos were always just around the corner, you could be certain that nothing would go exactly to plan, and you could be certain the contents of Dean Winchester’s pockets. In the back pocket was his wallet, complete with a small blank pad of paper inside. He always kept two pens and a pencil in the pocket of his flannel, and if you turned around now they’d be setting on the top of the nightstand on the left side of the bed.

The front right pocket always held a small handful of Jolly Ranchers and a spearmint or two. You and Dean both loved Jolly Ranchers, especially on long car rides. The spearmints were for Sam; he always forgot and sometimes having something to occupy his mouth helped him focus while he researched. As he got older a half-roll of rolaids were also added to the pocket, and as you reached in and pulled them out a sad smile crossed your face as another tear fell down your cheek.

You placed the contents on the bed, and pulled out the contents of the left side; an old zippo lighter and a half pack of matches. A few years into hunting with the boys you and Sam sat down and convinced Dean that no matter how cool it seemed you simply could not afford to lose a zippo lighter every time you had to burn a body, so he begrudgingly switched to matches. In exchange you had gotten him a personalized zippo lighter. You held it in you hand now, fingering the engravement, seeking a comfort that it couldn’t offer you.

You shivered against the cold fall air in the bunker. It would be another three weeks before Sam turned the heat on, and normally you would be snuggled close to Dean’s side, the combination of the heat of your bodies trapped beneath the blankets more than enough to keep you warm. The thought cut straight to your heart, and a few tears crawled down your face. You reached down, pulling on Dean’s flannel and hugging it to your body. You turned your head and buried your nose in the collar, breathing in so deep your lungs protested, pulling in his scent.

A crinkle from the front pocket caught your attention, and you noticed it felt like there was something inside, even though there shouldn’t be. Figuring it was a burger receipt and a quarter, you pulled it out and prepared to throw it away. Instead you found a yellowed and faded piece of notebook paper, wrapped around a round object. As you unfolded the paper a ring fell into your lap, a single small diamond sparkling in the center.

Your hand shook so hard as you picked it up that you nearly dropped it again. Your eyes darted back to the paper skimming over Dean’s handwriting.

_Ask her, ask her, ask her, ASK HER_

It had faded in time, and you briefly wondered how much time had passed since he wrote down the promise to himself. You wondered how many times he folded and unfolded that paper, reading and rereading these words. You wondered if he knew in advance that he’d never follow through.

You moved over to the nightstand, picking up a pen and adding a sentence of your own. You climbed into the middle of the bed, clutching the note and the ring, and you waited on the pain to fade away.

When Sam found you you were still clutching the ring and paper in your hands, your body cool to the touch. He grabbed the note and ring, your words cutting to his soul.

_I would have followed you anywhere._

* * *

 

The first words out of Dean’s mouth after becoming human once more were about you. He asked where you were, to see you, if you were okay. Sam’s expression was unreadable as he wordlessly led Dean out of the bunker.

The spring earth was soft beneath this knees as he crumpled, the familiar old note shaking in his hands. Tears streamed down his face as he leaned against the cold granite. He reached out to touch it, wishing that he could feel the softness of your skin, smell your shampoo instead of the wet rock.

“I should have asked you the day I bought the ring. I should have- God Y/N there’s so many things I should have done. I shouldn’t have tried to protect you. I’m so sorry.”

Before Dean went back inside, he reached into the right front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a Jolly Rancher, sitting it on your gravestone. He folded up the ring inside the note and placed it in it’s spot in the pocket of his flannel, where it rested right next to his heart.


End file.
